


Various Storms & Saints

by amongthieves



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, LionTrust, M/M, Sharing a Bed, from fighters to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7186595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/pseuds/amongthieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between finding the fel and finding the orcs, Khadgar and Lothar are grounded at an encampment as a storm brews over Stormwind. They spend the night at a seemingly empty inn. In which, Lothar is comfortable with his displays of comfort (and a little bit of affection), and it confuses the hell out of Khadgar. Especially since things progress in a way that Khadgar didn't think was possible. The fel is worse than they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Various Storms & Saints | 风暴与圣徒](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458085) by [yikshuontheroad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikshuontheroad/pseuds/yikshuontheroad)



> I apologize if this is incredibly OOC, as this is my first time ever writing Warcraft fanfiction! I saw the movie in Friday and absolutely fell in love with these two. I picked up the Last Guardian earlier today, so hopefully that'll help me write these two losers. I hope you enjoy!

It’s getting late, and even though they should fly back out on the gryphon to Stormwind, the cloudy night’s sky is proving difficult to see through. There’s a storm making its way over the mountains and Khadgar sighs, idly plucking a feather off his robe.

“I take it you’ve never flown on a gryphon before?” Lothar steps out of the tent, grinning as he stretches out. He had been in there for what felt like hours, when in reality, it must have only been several minutes. There’s a tightness in Khadgar’s chest, knowing that fel’s making its way into Azeroth. He thinks of the devastation it can bring, the amount of blood that will soak into the earth and he finds himself looking over his shoulder at Lothar. 

“No need when you have magic to move you around.” He turns his back to the man before looking at the darkened mountain range again. “It was… something else.”

“You looked a little green around the gills when we landed. Reminded me of a murloc.” Lothar chuckles, still bearing a playful grin.

“Fantastic. Just what I like to hear.” Khadgar rolls his eyes before inhaling heavily, feeling exhaustion begin to seep into his bones — it’s been a long day. “Is there a spot for us to sleep tonight?”

“The inn. Said they could get us two rooms.”

“Great. I’ll see you in the morning, when the storm passes. Hopefully.” Khadgar begins to walk towards the small town away from the encampment, leaving the sound of crass soldiers and Lothar’s small snorting laugh.

The inn’s small and cozy, and the barkeep hands Khadgar a key when he mentions his name, telling him to take the farthest left. He passes two dwarves happily toasting their two pints and he can’t help but smile as he opens his door, closing it gently behind him.

They’ve been unable to see the enemy, but they’ve left behind strong traces of a magic that doesn’t belong in this world. Khadgar’s read of it, learned of it from the Kirin Tor, but believed it was ages long lost. There’s a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and it makes him keep his robes on as he crawls into bed, shuddering. Wind whips against the side of the inn, making the whole building shake. It takes him awhile, but he somehow manages to sleep.

 

—

 

Khadgar wakes to the sound of metal clambering against the floor, and he shoots up, a spell already rolling off his tongue to light the lamp on the table. He stops his second spell when he sees Lothar’s wide eyed expression.

“What are you _doing_?” Khadgar sits up, rubbing at his eyes before watching Lothar pick up his sword off the wooden floor and set it on the small table in the corner.

“There was a mistake, and my room was rent to a dwarf. He was… in the middle of something and could not sort out other arrangements. All the other rooms are taken.” Khadgar remembers the two drinking dwarves and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. Lothar steps towards the bed, and Khadgar raises an eyebrow at him.

“And you thought sneaking into my room in the middle of the night was a great idea? You haven’t befriended many mages in your time, have you?” It’s Khadgar’s turn to snort, relieving some of the stress he’s been building up since their meeting with Medivh. 

“Your door was unlocked. I thought I’d be quiet.”

“Did a great job of that.” 

“Move over.” Lothar growls as he strips off his vest, tossing it over the back of a chair. With a loud huff, Khadgar shuffles over, making barely enough room for the broad man. This room wasn’t meant for sharing, and it was going to be a tight fit for both of them.

“I should teach you to ride a gryphon. Might be good use one day.”

“Excuse me?”

“No harm in having the skill.” Lothar shrugs before adjusting to becoming moderately comfortable. Khadgar is leaning towards the edge of the bed, increasingly frustrated and tired. “Can you put out the light?”

“No.”

“You mean I have to get back up?”

“Maybe your gryphon can take care of it for you, if he’s so handy.”

Khadgar rolls and turns his back to him, staring at the wall momentarily, thoughts drifting before closing his eyes. Before he falls asleep, he hears Lothar grunt, the weight on the bed shift, and the light goes out.

 

–

 

In the morning, Khadgar wakes to Lothar’s chest with the soldier’s arm tossed over his waist. His ears burn red before he gently slips out, watching Lothar mumble before flipping over onto his back, sheets pushed down to his hips. There’s a sudden jolt to his chest, an aching sensation before he quietly makes his way out the door to the tavern’s main room. It’s empty, and the sun hasn’t risen yet. Peeking through the window, he can see that the storm has passed and the clear skies are ready for riding.

With a defeated sigh, he sits down on one of the bar stools and continues to look out the window, at the stillness of the town. It isn’t too long until steps make their way behind him, and Khadgar knows who it is before he looks over his shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” Lothar’s voice is tired, and Khadgar’s heart is melting at the sight of him. Disheveled, at ease (to which, Khadgar’s never seen the commander in such a blissful state), and half dressed. 

“It’s quite the tight fit.” Khadgar smiles before looking back to the window. Lothar’s hand gently squeezes his shoulder before he takes the chair across from him, following the mage’s gaze. 

“I’ve had worse sleeping arrangements out on the battlefield.”

“I can only imagine. A handful of bulky men like you sharing a tent?” Khadgar laughs under his breath, leaning his chin against his hand. “I want to hear the _stories_.” Lothar’s eyes flicker to Khadgar, and he sits up a bit straighter, stuttering over his words. “Not like that— I mean, just— _you know_.”

“Don’t think I do.”

“Just… stories. Like—”

“The men aren’t like that. They have wives, most of them do anyways.” Khadgar feels himself shrink in his seat, and his eyes refuse to meet Lothar’s, trying to find solace in something other than the man judging him right now. The wrong joke, at the wrong time.

“What about you? Do you—”

“No. I do not. Not anymore.”

“Ah. I’m… sorry.” His voice is soft as he trails off, rubbing his neck awkwardly. The silence falls between them without much else, the light of the silver moon spilling across their table. “We can go to Stormwind now, if you would like? The storm’s passed.” A quick subject change, and they’ll be fine. At the city, they can go their separate directions after speaking with King Llane.

“No. Best to let the gryphon get his full night’s sleep. You never want to wake a gryphon, kid.”

“Right. Well, I’m going to try and get some more sleep in then. Tomorrow will only be a longer day.” There’s a weight to his words that he carries when he stands, turning on his heel towards the inn room. His eyes have adjusted enough that he doesn’t need to use the lamp and instead finds himself shedding his cloak, dropping it at the base of the bed. He climbs onto the mattress, tension falling away as he pulls the blankets around him, wanting to stay here _forever_. To leave the war behind, to be alone, as he should be, after fleeing the Kirin Tor. 

But hell, if he hadn’t found that magic in the barracks… _What could have happened?_

With his mind racing, stumping over the possibilities that could befall Azeroth, he doesn’t hear Lothar enter the room, doesn’t recognize him until the mattress shifts with Lothar’s weight. This time, he doesn’t ready any spells, doesn’t panic — but there’s still the jump in his heart as he pretends to be asleep.

“You pretend very poorly.”

Khadgar remains silent, in hopes that Lothar will give up on trying to tease him. It doesn’t work.

There’s a hand on his waist that flips him over with ease, and Khadgar’s eyes fling open and he’s staring face to face with Lothar, breath caught in his throat.

“You’re very bad at lying, kid.” And the hand’s still on his hip, thumb rubbing small circles as Khadgar wonders _what kind of alternate universe have I fallen into_ before Lothar’s chuckling, voice deep and low as he pulls the small mage flush against his chest, tucked underneath his chin. “You’ll get through this. I’ve seen the way you look at Stormwind in the distance. There’s fear.”

Khadgar remains silent, biting his tongue as he readies himself to respond with faux courage. There’s no point in lying to Lothar anymore — the man’s probably heard it all. There’s something grounding about being this close to him, and Lothar probably _knows_ it. Bastard.

After he falls asleep, a little less scared and feeling a little more secure, he doesn't feel the small kiss pressed to the top of his head. Lothar’s voice is softer than a whisper, barely audible to himself. “We’ll get through this. I fucking hope so.”


	2. blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The struggles of waiting in Stormwind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never forget my stories but holy shit, am I ever bad at continuing to write them. I have no reasonable excuse, so I'm sorry. I'm still in love with this pairing, and have been playing Warcraft lately, so perhaps that's the reason for inspiration. I apologize for an errors in writing, but I just wanted to post this in hopes of getting a groove back.

He dreams of Lothar when the man isn’t around. Ever since their shared night in the same room, he’s felt an almost sickening longing for the Knight Commanders presence. They’ve met the orcs, found one that could perhaps help the cause of saving Azeroth. Khadgar’s met him briefly, looked into his eyes that were full of compassion that Khadgar hasn’t seen in ages. Not in the Kirin Tor. 

Maybe in Lothar’s eyes, but the man hardly gives him the time of day. So Khadgar spends the daylight pouring over books in the Stormwind library, leaving when moonlight begins to trickle through the windows of the building. Even when he leaves, there’s always a book cracked open in his hands, reading by lamplight until he gets to the castle, where Llane has graciously given him a room larger than needed. 

A part of him wants to return to Medivh, call for his help — they need the Guardian. But instead, they waste their times talking military strategies that makes Khadgar feel useless. He walks around the war table, eyeing the metal pieces that represent Stormwind’s armies and allies, but neither Lothar nor Llane ask for his opinion. So he keeps quiet, practicing his spells in the stillness of his room. Sometimes when his hands ache and he feels a physical exhaustion coming on, he sketches Lothar. Leaning over a desk, sitting against a wall — detailing his equipment, drawing the various intricacies of his great sword. 

But today, he doesn’t want to draw and he doesn’t want to practice his spells. He wants to find Lothar, tell them that they’re wasting his time, but wherever he goes, the Commander is no where to be found. King Llane says he hasn’t seen him all day, and he may have gone for a ride to clear his muddled mind. After all, they’ve been working so hard to figure out their next move. Khadgar sighs and shrugs before leaving the room, not noticing the way Llane raises his eyebrow at him. 

He finds himself at the docks, listening to the sound of the ocean and the call of the gulls in the distance. Bathed in blue, the moonlight brighter than it’s been the other couple of nights, Khadgar closes his eyes and sticks his feet into the water, shivering at the chill. Why Medivh wasn’t in Stormwind was beyond Khadgar. They had fought the orcs with a spell that Khadgar’s never seen and just like that, the mage was gone. No word on returning. 

The sound of a fisher pulling out a cage of crabs has Khadgar’s eyes flicker open, watching the man examine each one individually before throwing a few back into the water with a soft splash.

“Never took you for a dock rat.” The voice shakes Khadgar out his lazied trance and he finds Lothar leaning against a stack of boxes beside him. The man looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and beard unkempt. If Khadgar hasn’t known him, he might have been politely excusing himself and making his way to a guard. 

“I like the ocean. When I’m not on it.”

Lothar snorts, leaning down to roll up his pants before taking his boots off. He sits down and joins Khadgar, dipping his feet into the dark waters. “What do you prefer? Gryphons or boats?”

“That’s a tough one. Neither? Do I have to answer?” Khadgar plays with his robes in his hands, thinking of the dream he had last night. Of Lothar carrying him to bed. It tinges his already rosy cheeks with a dark red. “But… I could get use to the gryphon, I suppose. She’s good, she has control. The boats don’t.”

“Rough winds can be dangerous too, you know.” Lothar knocks his shoulder with his own and Khadgar flinches. They sit in silence, listening to the waves lap against the wooden beams. There’s the dinging of a ship departing, its crew shouting to each other in the night. Khadgar watches as its sails catch the wind, the front cutting through the ocean. The waves ripple to the ankles, splashing against Khadgar’s knees. 

“Did you want to go swimming?”

“I’m not entirely fond of swimming.”

“You’re not ‘entirely fond’ of anything.”

“I like food.” Khadgar pouts and he startles when Lothar gives a heart laugh that’s almost like a guffaw. 

“I can tell.” Lothar stands and wipes his feet on the boards before yanking his boots on. “Come on, I’ll show you a good spot.” And with no other choice other than to be alone with his dreams that leave him feeling empty, he follows suit and hangs behind Lothar as they make their way through the trade district to the gryphon roost. The soldiers nod at them as they come by and Lothar’s gryphon is readied for him. The bird seems awake and eager, her claws scratching at the floor as she nearly bounces in excitement. Lothar helps Khadgar up without even asking, hands tight on his hips as he settles the mage in before throwing himself up. 

Khadgar’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to the feeling of a gryphon kicking off from the ground, throwing itself into the air with its wings stretching out with a force that he can feel. Beneath them, Elwynn forest goes past in a blur and Khadgar decides that maybe it’s best to keep his eyes on Lothar’s back, arms wrapped tight around his midsection. The night’s brighter than Khadgar remembers seeing at the Kirin Tor, or anywhere near Stormwind. This is what the countryside must be, an open vastness of beauty that Khadgar feels a little part of him long for. How nice it would be to settle down and not worry about the courses of the world. 

In the dark, the moon glitters across the lake’s surface and Khadgar finds himself looking down regardless, reaching a single hand out, splaying his fingers as the wind moves through them. He feels at ease with Lothar at his side, but that sudden sense of security disappears as soon as the gryphon dives, his free hand scrambling to grab onto Lothar’s clothes. White knuckled, Khadgar holds his breath until they touch ground, the giant creature cawing in delight as it trots over to the water for a drink. Lothar slides off and plucks Khadgar off, who struggles to stand when his feet touch the ground.

“Did I catch you off guard?” Lothar smiles at him, knowing all too well he did and Khadgar doesn’t grace him with a response before he’s turning his back on the man. 

“I didn’t… bring any swimming shorts.” Khadgar stares at the edge of the water lapping against the dark sand, smiling at the calmness of the lake. It’s surprisingly quiet and Khadgar finds himself peering across the lake, trying to scout out anything of interest. But it’s dark and it’s quiet, and Khadgar feels something hit the back of his head.

“You can borrow a pair of mine.”

“Ah.” Khadgar pulls them out of his hood and looks at the larger swimming shorts, holding back a laugh. “And you say I’m the one who loves food…” Khadgar mumbles to himself, earning a smack against his ear. “Ow!”

And he looks to see Lothar’s already rerobed, no shorts to be seen on his body. Instead, Khadgar gets an eyeful of skin before it’s gone into the lake, splashing underneath its depths. Khadgar stands frozen, clutching the shorts in his hands. Lothar’s not supposed to be naked. He’s… He’s also supposed to be wearing swim shorts.

Lothar surfaces, pushing his hair out of his face. “Well come on. The water’s perfect.” Khadgar close his gaping jaw and scurries behind the gryphon, keeping an eye on the creature so it didn’t kick him to the ground. Quickly, he changes, tying the shorts tightly around his hips. They’re larger, and he knows it’s due to Lothar’s ridiculously muscled and larger frame, and a part of him wonders what he’d look like in Lothars clothes.

“Hurry up! Or the Murlocs will get you!” The thought had Khadgar rolling his eyes before he begins to tip toe into the water, patting the gryphon on her shoulder before he snaps his fingers, a filament of light floating over the water. Not being able to see where he was going, especially into a murky darkness like this, was slightly unnerving. The light was bright enough that he could make out Lothar’s form, swimming on his back, and Khadgar finds himself staying where it’s just shallow enough that his feet can touch the ground. 

And Lothar was right — the water is perfect.

“So where are we?” With a small mental push, Khadgar forces himself out of the shallow and into the deep end, where he feels grass brush against his foot. He hates swimming.

“Lake Everstill. Sometimes the three of us used to come out here on the days we could get away and no one would notice us missing.”

“Medivh and Llane?”

“Who else?” Lothar smiles fondly, and Khadgar can’t remember the last time he’s seen Lothar this genuinely interested in sharing his thoughts. Another spell of silence falls upon them and Khadgar watches Lothar swim circles, back muscles appearing and disappearing beneath the water. It keeps him mesmerized, like a spell he can’t seem to break. 

The moon slips across the sky and they swim, idle chat here and there as Khadgar moves between the sandbar and the lake, not having the stamina that Lothar seems to carry. And of course not, his stamina lies elsewhere. Lothar couldn’t do what he does, and he couldn’t do that Lothar does. They each carry their own role, and Khadgar’s fine with that.

When the exhaustion begins to sink in and he can hardly see straight, Khadgar shouts to Lothar that he’s getting out. Any longer spent, and he would find himself drowning in the bath like consistently of the lake. He uses his robes to dry off, watching Lothar swim to him. When his waist comes above the water, Khadgar directs his eyes elsewhere, holding out the man’s clothes.

“Thanks.” Lothar is all grins as he reaches out and ruffles Khadgar’s wet hair like a dog, and Khadgar shoots him a fuming look. “That felt good. Thanks for coming with.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

“There’s an inn at Lakeshire, not too far. Just on the other side. Come on.” Lothar pets the gryphon once he’s dressed, patting on her back for Khadgar to jump up. He looks at Lothar, than to the giant creature, and back to Lothar. “You can get up on your own, can’t you?”

Khadgar fights the urge to complain that he’s tired, and he grumbles a few idle curses before trying to jump onto its back. He fails the first time, hands not gripping tight enough, and as he jumps the second time, he feels Lothar push his behind up so hard that he almost ends up falling over the other side. Lothar’s laughter prickles him, and he says nothing as he manages to sit upright and Lothar jumps on in front of him. 

Within minutes, they’re at the inn and it’s a sleepy place, the residents quietly milling about. It’s nothing like Stormwind. There isn’t a bard singing stories that make Khadgar’s ears go red. They get two rooms with ease and part their ways, the rooms across from each other in the hall. Lothar mutters something that Khadgar doesn’t quite catch, and the man leans into him, pressing a hand against the doorframe. For a moment, Khadgar’s trapped against the door, and he can feel Lothar’s breath and wet hair dripping onto his chest. 

“Lothar?” Khadgar breathes and it’s hardly a whisper before Lothar pulls away, mumbling something along the lines of ‘forgot it’ before he’s already turning around, closing the door behind him. With a sudden deep ache in his chest, Khadgar exhales heavily, staring at the wooden door before he leans back against his, feeling the door knob dig into his back. It must be a fevered dream, a vision that’s followed him from Karazhan and Khadgar forgets it, turning into his room and locking the door behind him. There’s nothing to act on, nothing to say.

A fevered dream. A moment stranded in time.

Khadgar stumbles over to his bed, flopping down before he begins to undress, feeling the muggy heat in the air begin to settle on his body. He hadn’t even asked Lothar where the man had been all day, or why they had taken this small excursion — if it was to be real. But the water, Lothar’s touch, it all felt so real.

And when he wakes in the morning, it’s in the same bed, the sun filtering through his window and landing in strips across his bare stomach. He looks up, to see the door still locked, and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. A dream. That’s all. 


	3. falter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the ambush at Blackrock Pass, Lothar faces loss and Khadgar's not sure how to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still chugging away at this!

In the morning, Khadgar notices no changes in Lothar’s mood or attitude towards him, so he writes off the previous encounter as a strange vision. Something to come, or perhaps something to wither away in the quiet corners of Khadgar’s mind. When they return to Stormwind, Llane gives them both a look that Khadgar's too embarrassed to dignify with a response. They’ve decided that they will head to Blackrock Pass and meet the orc that they believe they can find common ground with. It’s a risky plan, but they don’t have much other choice.

\- 

Medivh’s body is cold when Khadgar runs to him, pulling him into his arms. It’s become a nightmare, with the Stormwind army retreating from the sudden ambush and Medivh unconscious. Lightning continues to strike around them, an electric haze in the air that has Khadgar fearing not only for his life, but the magnus’ too. Garona helps him lift the body, and he doesn’t want to let go, but they have no choice — she’s physically stronger than he is and will ever be. 

“We need to get him to Karazhan.”

-

When Medivh’s pushed into the font, the swirling pool of energy encompassing his body, Khadgar grips onto his robes, not letting go when Garona does. The man gasps, eyes rolling open as he breathes and Khadgar’s heart leaps at the sight. He is going to be okay.

“I’m going to be okay.” Medivh murmurs, almost as if he’s read Khadgar’s mind. Which, he wouldn’t put past him. “Go. Go to Stormwind and check on Llane and Lothar. Please.” Khadgar looks to Garona who nods and Khadgar is scrambling to grab a rune out of his bag, drawing his port spell that he believes he can do. If he can’t, then it would be incredibly embarrassing, though he’s not sure Garona would know the difference if he failed or not. It’s not like she knows it’s a teleportation spell — right? 

She pays him no mind regardless as Khadgar leans down, muttering a few words before he slips out of the castle, his head pounding as he falls down onto a hard wooden floor. He sits in a groggy fashion up to see that he’s in a tavern that he’s been to before in Stormwind. He can’t quite recall the name (The Gilded Rose maybe?), but he’s surprised to see that it’s barren and empty. Hadn’t he focused to be closer to Lothar? Picturing the man, tense and frustrated at today’s result. 

But when Lothar pops up from behind the bar, his face is red with drunkenness. Khadgar stays on the ground, propping himself up with his hands as he watches the Commander lean against the counter, his whole weight seeming too much for himself alone.

“Khadgar?”

“Lothar! There you are—“

“Leave.”

“Sorry? Um, I thought I would come and see that you were okay—” Khadgar stands, brushing off the dirt from his robes. He looks around, the lights dim, and can already see several empty wine bottles on the bar counter, some of them having rolled off and smashed on the floor. A sudden sense of unease blankets over him, and Lothar looks at him as though he’s a criminal. Something did not go well. Something is wrong. “I know it didn’t go the way we wanted but Medivh is okay! He’s just recovering—”

“Callan is dead.”

Lothar’s voice, dripping with agony, has Khadgar instantly reaching out, stepping towards him. “I'm sorry, Lothar. I’m so sorry.” And he’s apologizing, knowing it’s not enough, persisting to reach him even when Lothar slaps his hand away. They’re separated by the bar counter, and Khadgar feels more than the physical divide, not knowing Lothar’s pain. 

“He was everything I had left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” He rubs at his face, sniffling loudly and Khadgar can see the dried tears on his cheeks. “It doesn’t help. This does.” He chugs back another large drink of wine, and Khadgar can smell it on him. It makes his stomach churn and he desperately wants a way to help the man, but his mind draws blanks. He’s good at figuring out spells, not necessarily people. 

“My family gave me up when I was young.” Khadgar blurts out, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the sudden desire to give something Lothar to relate with. But Lothar says nothing and Khadgar takes it as a hopeful cue. “Giving a child to the Kirin Tor, it gave them great honour, you know? That I was going to become this great mage… I never even got to know my father. Or my mother. Or my siblings. All I knew were the mages at Dalaran, and they were _not_ family. Lothar, I guess… what I’m trying to say is that you had Callan, you were there for him. Or so, at least I assume. If you hadn’t have been, you wouldn’t be this torn up.” Khadgar swallows thickly, feeling a bead of sweat run down his neck. Underneath Lothar’s unreadable stare, Khadgar finds it hard to breath. 

Lothar’s eyes are like a storm that Khadgar finds himself sinking into.

“I’m sorry for Callan but… he was lucky to have you. As a father. A friend.” 

He sees Lothar’s shoulders slump as the man places the bottle of wine back on the counter, switching it out for a cup of something that smells strong. 

“I’m glad to have you. Please don’t be too hard on yourself. We need you. Azeroth needs you.” When Khadgar thinks he’s hit a weak spot, Lothar turns his back on him while picking up the bottle of wine again. Khadgar sighs, exasperated, deciding it’s not worth his time. If Lothar wanted to drink himself in astupor, that was his choice, his way of dealing with loss. 

“Stay.” Lothar’s voice is low and Khadgar almost doesn’t hear it, but he sees Lothar stop walking, his body swaying and unsteady. Like a moth to a flame, Khadgar is instantly behind him, following him with a sense of small victory. They move in silence, and Khadgar stands in the door when Lothar finds a room, collapsing into the bed. It’s one of the more comfortable and larger rooms, and Khadgar gently closes the door behind him out of habit. Not that anyone was in the whole building, due to Lothar scaring them out, or so Khadgar assumes.

“Come.” Lothar closes his eyes, letting his arm slip to the side, bottle hanging loosely. Khadgar swallows before he moves forward, gently plucking the bottle from Lothar’s hand before setting it down on the ground. He sits on the edge of the bed, listening to Lothar’s ragged breathing, to the sound of a man holding back tears. Khadgar rubs at his face, exhaling heavily before he turns around and curls into Lothar’s side. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Lothar responds by putting his arm around him, rolling over and they’re close enough that their noses are just touching and Khadgar’s nose wrinkles at the stench of alcohol. Slowly, with shaking hands, Khadgar reaches up and touches his face, hands clammy against the rough and scruffy skin. Lothar’s face doesn’t change as tears fall from his closed eyes, body trembling ever so slightly that Khadgar wouldn’t have been able to tell, had he not had his hands on him. “You hear that? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll go wherever you go, Lothar.”

Lothar’s arms wrap around him and Khadgar is squeezed tightly, face nestling into Lothar’s neck, who smells of sweat and a faint sweetness of wine. The touch makes Khadgar dizzy, and he adjusts himself until he’s comfortable, resting perfectly into Lothar’s body. He listens to Lothar’s breathing turn into a faint snore, which brings a smile to Khadgar’s face. After counting of all the ways this could have gone, Khadgar thanks his lucky stars.


	4. confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar's dreams are starting to get out of control. He needs a distraction. So does Lothar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all hung on so long... this chapter is a little thank you for that!

Things move too fast for Khadgar to take a moment to slow down and appreciate any small joy he can find. Lothar seems to have found a trust in him that he hasn’t seen reciprocated anywhere else. Most of their nights are spent falling asleep in the same room or at least with a goodnight, which Khadgar looks forward to everyday. 

His dreams leave him breathless. The images of Lothar have all but disappeared and now it’s the water of the lake, dragging him under. Lungs filling with water that burns, Khadgar thrashes awake some nights. Lothar never stirs, or if he does, he pretends not to notice. It always takes him a moment, wiping his sweat drenched brow, before drifting away again. He’s lucky to have a real bed, and he’s thankful for it, but he begins to avoid sleep, trying to keep it at bay.

The water in his dreams turn turquoise, slowly leaving behind the sparkling aquamarine that Khadgar admired. 

Finally one late night, when he passes out over a book, the water becomes green — greener than any field he’s ever seen, any wisp of magic that’s glowed in the halls of Dalaran. It’s a frightful, consuming green that even when he surfaces from the lake, it clings to him like a sickness. 

“Khadgar!” A sudden voice wakes him and he’s scrambling to protect himself, the words of an arcane barrier slipping off his tongue. As he comes too, he sees Lothar with a concerned expression on the outside of the ethereally blue bubble. Lothar taps at it, the sound of echoing glass filling the room before the spell fades, Khadgar sighing heavily. “You were muttering and jerking around in your sleep. It seemed like a nightmare.”

“Yes… well, no. Just… unpleasant.” Khadgar looks away, not wanting to discuss the contents of his dream… his vision, whatever it was. He didn’t want to alarm the man, considering all they were dealing with. “I’m fine, really.” He shakes his head, flinching when he feels Lothar’s hand on his shoulder.

“You haven’t been sleeping lately.”

“Yes I have. I’m fine. Are you watching me sleep?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s… peculiar.”

“You used to watch me out the corner of your eye all the time, spell chucker.” Lothar grins and Khadgar feels his cheeks grow hot. “It’s my turn to watch you now.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Some would argue otherwise.” Lothar pulls up a chair, eyes scanning over the parchment that Khadgar has littered over the wooden desk. It’s full of script that he knows Lothar can't read, but he also sees the sketches of Lothar sitting on the corner. They both realize it at the same time, hands reaching out — and Lothar wins, grabbing it first.

“Wow. This is something else, Khadgar.” Lothar examines the sketches, and Khadgar is stumbling out of his chair, reaching to take it out of the subject’s hands. But Lothar keeps him at length, free hand outstretched and holding him back. He forgets for a moment who Khadgar is, and suddenly an invisible hand snatches the parchment and Khadgar is rolling it into a ball, setting it on fire. “You know, I think you’re picking up on some of Medivh’s dramatic tendencies.”

“That was _personal_.” Khadgar scowls, gathering the rest of his paper up. "I don’t need you coming around and poking through all my business. Don’t you have some… some commander things you must attend to? Surely the people of Azeroth need you.”

“Not at the moment.” Lothar sits back in his chair, smug, arms crossed over his chest. Khadgar shots him a look that has Lothar grinning even wider, to which Khadgar rolls his eyes and shoves his book into his bag, striding out of the room. 

When he’s halfway down the stairs, catching his breath, he looks over his shoulder, expecting Lothar to follow. But he doesn’t see him. He slows, his palm outspread against the spire’s wall, feeling the cool stone. How silly of him, to think a grown man would play games.

** /// **

Lothar’s sudden onslaught of drunkenness gets him in trouble. He’s supposed be clear and level headed, a commander for an army that’s questioning why Lothar still has the position he’s in. 

“It’s because he’s good at it. The best.” Khadgar finds himself sneering at one of the men, earning an eyebrow raised in a quizzical manner. It’s not often that he speaks for Lothar, but the sudden backlash against one of his favourite people has a sliver of anger festering in him. On this thought, Khadgar sets off to the man’s room in Llane’s castle. His foot steps echo down the halls, and he finds Lothar’s bedroom, door ajar. With a sudden sense of unease, he quietly pushes it open, expecting to find a bloodied fight or a drunken man in bed. What he finds is neither,but King Llane stands in the middle of the room, his chin resting against his fist in contemplation.

“Uh, your Majesty…” Khadgar’s voice is small, and he always wavers in front of royalty.

“Ah, Khadgar! Good to see you around. I take it you’re looking for Lothar?” He shakes his head, releasing a heavy sigh. 

“Yes… Is he okay?” Khadgar steps in, gently closing the door behind him. He notices the empty liquor bottles at the bedside table, red wine spilled onto the floor.

“He’s fine, stumbled out in a rage. Who am I to stop him?” King Llane snorts, giving Khadgar a teasing smile. “He started to talk about matters that don’t concern him, aiming to hurt. He was…”

“Drunk.” 

“Indeed.” King Llane frowns, following Khadgar’s eyes to the bottles. “He’s been… quite out of hand with it.”

“And you’re telling me because you want me to fix it.”

“Well, he seems rather attached to you.”

“He doesn’t have much left.”

“Sure he does. He just doesn’t realize it. Go see if you can find him.” 

Khadgar nods, turning around to the door.

“Oh, Khadgar?”

“Yes?” Khadgar turns around, halfway through the door.

“Please call me Llane. I am your friend more than your king.”

“Uh, of course. Llane.” Khadgar nods and speeds out the door, running back down the hall.

** /// **

Khadgar finds him in the strategy hall, all by himself, making the room feel enormous as Khadgar pushes the heaven wooden doors open.

“I thought you wanted some space. So I gave you some.” Lothar looks up from the table at him, pieces of Stormwind’s armies decorating the board. Khadgar notices it’s much less than last time, and he swallows thickly. How much time do they have before Stormwind is overrun? Until whatever they’re fighting, succeeds? The questions shake Khadgar to his core, but he doesn’t let it show, pushes the grim thoughts to the corner of his mind.

“I’m…” He inhales deeply, looking at his feet. “Sorry.” He steals a glance at Lothar, who’s grinning wider than a Stormwind soldier getting a free pint at the bar. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, kid.” Lothar’s gaze falls back on the table and he picks up a piece, contemplating where to put it. A whole squadron in his hands - is he condemning them to their deaths or is he saving a whole town? Khadgar will never know, or he just might, depending on Lothar’s moods. Lately, he’s been doing more sulking than commanding. 

“Can we talk?” Khadgar begins to walk around the table, crossing the distance between them. He eyes Lothar, watching him for any drunken movements but the man seems perfectly at peace. 

“You’ve already started. Might as well continue.” Lothar sets the piece down in a mountain, stroking his beard. This doesn’t work, and he picks up the piece again. Khadgar scoffs and it earns him a sharp look from Lothar. He clears his throat, pretending to have something stuck in his throat. 

“You’ve been having issues lately.”

Lothar looks up at him, eyebrow raised. “Issues?”

“Issues. Drinking… issues.”

At Khadgar’s feeble voice, Lothar booms with laughter that seems to leap off the walls and knock Khadgar a step back. It’s almost intimidating, if he didn’t know Lothar so well.

“You’ve maybe been not handling things in the best way.”

“And what is the best way, Khadgar?” He eyes return back to the table, and Khadgar spots the cup of wine near one of the villages. It towers over the town piece, and Khadgar frowns. He hadn’t thought of an answer — in fact, he hadn’t thought of confronting Lothar at all. He had expected him to be out of the castle, pursuing things that did not concern Khadgar.

He needs to change the subject. He’s unsure of how to handle Lothar’s grief — or just about anyone’s grief.

“Maybe… I’m imagining things.” Khadgar’s voice is shaky, and he feels his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. This grabs Lothar’s attention again, and he sets the horse piece down on the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing just his basic leather ensemble, and Khadgar can see there’s a rip in the arm, near his shoulder. “But lately…” 

The dreams. The green water. The _fel_. Their time is little, and Khadgar can feel it slipping by every night when he closes his eyes. Should he mention it?

“Lately?” Lothar’s voice pierces his thoughts and Khadgar startles slightly. 

“You’ve been looking at me. In a way that you don’t look at anyone else.” Khadgar swallows thickly, chewing at his little lip as his gaze wanders to all other corners of the room that don’t have Lothar in them. What did he have to lose? Surely this conversation would be a large distraction, if he was right. 

“You think so? That you’re so special?” And for a moment, Khadgar thinks Lothar’s about attack him, can see the sudden tension in his shoulders. His jaw is set, clenched, and Khadgar wants to reach out and touch him, to tell him he’s nothing to worry about. If Lothar pretends it never existed, so will Khadgar. 

But instead, Lothar grabs him under the arms and hefts him into the air, setting him down on the edge of the war table. Khadgar grips at his shoulders, bracing himself to be slammed hurt—

“Please don’t—”

Lothar kisses him, grabs the front of his robes and tugs his body into his. At first, all Khadgar can think is to resist him, to push him away, but he finds his hands gripping at Lothar’s shoulders. A sudden need satisfied as their lips touch, at first tentative but it grows past that quickly. Khadgar finds himself wrapping his legs around Lothar’s waist, pulling one hand back to balance himself on the table. Lothar’s beard is rough against his patchy skin, but he can’t complain, not after this. He tastes like wine that’s too bitter to be from Dalaran.

“Is this what you’ve been imagining?” Lothar grins, his hands sliding down Khadgar’s robes, grip digging into his hips. Khadgar lets out a low moan, tilting his head back, and Lothar uses this moment to nip at his neck. 

“Maybe.” Khadgar clutches at Lothar’s jacket when he bites down, earning a low hiss from Khadgar in response. He finds himself rocking his hips into Lothar’s, groaning as their mouths melt together, a spark creating a firestorm in his chest. He feels intoxicated, like he can’t breathe, and he’s not even sure what he’s doing — he’s never kissed anyone like this before. Never wanted to.

Not like this. Not with the way Lothar runs his fingers through his hair, trying to kiss all of him at once, lips grazing over Khadgar’s neck. He feels Lothar’s hands tugging at his robes and Khadgar’s face becomes hotter than before. His cloak has been undone, the pin holding it together thrown among the ally pieces of Stormwind, and now Lothar’s hands are trying to get at his skin.

His hot, overwhelmed skin. It’s overwhelming.

“Lothar, stop—” He manages to get out somewhere between the kisses, his hands reaching down to grab Lothar’s. They stay there, over his knuckles, his hands small in comparison he notices, as he stares Lothar point blank in the face.

“You want to stop this? Now?” There’s an unreadable expression in his face and Khadgar’s shaking his head, pushing his body against Lothar’s. The question almost seems to sober Lothar up, and Khadgar bites his lip.

“No— I mean, yes— but—“ Khadgar exhales, flustered and pink, rubbing his mouth as he finds a small laughter escape his trembling body. “Not here. I can’t think of how disappointed Llane would be to find us on top of his strategy table.”

This earns a large grin that Lothar who almost guffaws in response, pulling away and pulling Khadgar with him. The guards stationed in the halls pay them no mind, and Khadgar tries his very best to appear calm. A thousand thoughts race through his brain, Llane’s plea of Lothar’s salvation. Is this how to do it? Perhaps he’s a fool to think so, but if he can offer Lothar a temporary relief, then so be it. 

They arrive back to Lothar’s room and Khadgar closes the door with them, throwing the bolt on for good measure. Lothar turns to face him, cheeks red from the wine, but Khadgar doesn’t mind. He’s pressed against the wall, hands reaching to pull Lothar’s clothes off. There’s a sudden rip and Khadgar apologizes under his breath as he notices that he’s torn Lothar’s jacket even further. In response, Lothar laughs and shakes his head before kissing Khadgar hard against the wooden door.

“You ever done this, mage?”

Khadgar’s not sure how to respond, especially with Lothar’s hand slides into his trousers and squeezes his achingly hard dick. He manages a soft groan, tilting his head back once again. A sensation curls in his gut as Lothar pulls his hand out and licks his palm before returning back to stroke him slowly, teeth nipping at Khadgar’s jaw. 

His knees feel weak, and he’s gripping onto Lothar to keep him upright, body arching into Lothar’s.

“Of course…” It’s not a lie, he’s done things like this — fooling around, feeling things out. But with other students of his age. Lothar’s a little different in that category. 

But within moments, Khadgar can feel himself coming close and he has to grab Lothar’s hand to stop him from finishing all too soon. “Let me—” And Lothar doesn’t have a moment to ask him what he means before Khadgar’s down on his knees, undoing his trousers. He hears a hum of approval from above him before he pulls out Lothar’s cock, mouth wrapping around him. With more than just a hum, Lothar groans and his fingers curl around Khadgar’s hair. 

“Fuck, Khadgar.” Khadgar takes that as a cue to suck him off faster, bobbing his head back and forth as his tongue drags underneath his shaft. It’s hot and messy, and Khadgar can feel spit dribbling onto his chin, but Lothar doesn’t seem to mind. As he pulls away for a breath, Lothar grins down at him. “Never thought I’d see this.”

Khadgar smiles at him and Lothar grabs his chin, pulling him backup for a kiss. It’s sloppy and their tongues mash together as Lothar begins to undo Khadgar’s robes. He tries to pull at a tie, but it doesn’t budge, and he grunts in frustration.

With a small laugh, Khadgar pulls away and undoes it in a smooth, simple fashion. Lothar watches him undress, licking his lips. When he finishes, dropping his briefs to the ground, Lothar does the same in a much faster and fluid motion.  

Khadgar feels oddly exposed, standing naked front of the bed with his robes pooled on the floor. Lothar’s eyes on him make him want to curl under the bed, to run and hide, but the man’s expression makes him feel that he’s succeeded in his distraction.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” And Lothar’s picking him up, Khadgar stalling him until he’s flung onto the bed with unexpected strength. He bounces on the sheets, laughing until Lothar climbs on top of him, kissing him into the mattress. They’re a tangle of limbs, Khadgar pushing his body up to meet Lothar’s, hands running over his hard muscles. An intense need grips him and he grabs both of their cocks, rubbing them together.

Lothar lets out a shuddered sigh as he slowly grinds them together.

“Do you use your… magic when you fuck?” 

Khadgar can feel himself turn the deepest shade of red, an audible gasp at the crude nature of the question. “No— I can… hardly focus right now.” And it’s true. His brain is a mess, seeing Lothar above him, hair dangling in his face.

“That’s a good answer.” Lothar grabs Khadgar’s hand and pulls it away before flipping him over onto his stomach. Khadgar grunts in surprise before looking over his shoulder to see Lothar slide his dick between his ass. “Fuck…” Khadgar’s stomach does a flip in response, and his cock twitches, and Khadgar swears under his breath into the sheets. He pushes back into him before he feels Lothar lean over him, reaching into his bedside table.

“What are you—“

“Don’t worry.” And Lothar pulls out a vial and Khadgar puts two and two together. It doesn’t take long for Lothar to prep himself and Khadgar holds his breath for a moment. It hurts at first and Khadgar fists the sheets, toes curling as he hisses at the slow movement that Lothar takes. 

But soon enough, when Lothar reaches around and squeezes his dick, Khadgar lets out a low, breathy moan. “Lothar…”

He feels Lothar’s hands move to his hips, holding him as he starts a slow rhythm that has Khadgar reaching for his own dick. It’s like his brain is coming undone, any thought of nervousness or preparation gone — replaced with a unbiased desire and need to finish. As Lothar picks up speed, Khadgar pushes himself up to all fours, listening to the sound of skin slapping together. 

Lothar leans down to kiss his back and Khadgar looks over his shoulder again, a tightness in his chest at the sight of Lothar — sweat slicked, an expression of bliss plastered over his flushed face. Khadgar feels ready to come, right then and there, and he tries to warn Lothar but the words won’t form and he’s breathlessly moaning. As he rides his orgasm out, pushing his face into the sheets, he feels Lothar’s grip tighten and his movements become jerky. He hardly makes a sound and Khadgar doesn’t even know he’s finished until he’s lying beside him, breathing heavily. 

Khadgar rolls onto his side, wincing, looking at Lothar.

“There should be a cloth in the bathroom.” Lothar points at the smaller wooden door and Khadgar nods silently, getting up. He looks back to see Lothar’s eyes closed, hand on his stomach. 

In the bathroom, Khadgar closes the door behind him before he finds the cloths he had been talking about. Clean up is awkward, and as he finishes up, he eyes the steel clawed bath tub in the middle of the room. Without hesitance, he turns on the taps and watches as the water fills the tub. 

“Taking a late night bath?” Lothar stands in the door, in his naked glory, and Khadgar almost averts his eyes before remembering just exactly what they did.

“I’ve never seen a tub this nice before.”

“Thank Llane. Only the best for the commander of his army.”

“Apparently.” 

Once it becomes full enough, Khadgar steps in and leans back, sighing in utter relief. His waves his hands under water, muttering a few words, and steam rises as the water warms to almost a hot spring temperature. The water sloshes and Khadgar opens his eyes to see Lothar stepping in to join him.

They sit in silence, taking turns washing each other, and Khadgar revels in the intimacy of it all. 

“You okay?” Khadgar breaks the silence, pushing one of his feet against Lothar’s stomach. The man hums in response, letting his head fall back into the water. When Lothar surfaces, he meets Khadgar’s gaze with a small smile.

“I should be asking you that question.”

“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“I appreciate the concern, Khadgar.”

It doesn’t answer his question, but the genuine smile has Khadgar feeling a little lighter from his conversation earlier with Llane. There’s something still here, and Lothar will make it through okay. He has to.

“Do you want me to leave? I can go back to the tower—”

“No.” Lothar’s tone is soft, and Khadgar feels himself melting once again. “I want you to stay.” Khadgar pushes away form his side on the tub and glides over to Lothar, burying his head into the crook of his neck. Lothar’s arms wrap around him and Khadgar feels whole again. Like the war never happened.

When he falls asleep in bed, nestled against Lothar’s chest, the dreams remain empty. It’s quiet, and Khadgar’s relieved. This might be salvation for the two of them.


	5. submerged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ambush reveals things that Khadgar feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally did something with plot. Shit. Small chapter to see if anyone is still interested in the story continuing.

Khadgar wants to forget about the war.

Wrapped up in Lothar’s arms, in the silent hum of the morning, rain drizzling against the windows, Khadgar wants the rest of the world to melt away. Leave him be to his newfound happiness. 

But that’s not how war works, and Khadgar learns it harshly.

///

“Healer! We need a healer!” Stormwind Guards crash through the doors and Khadgar’s head perks up, abandoning the map he had been pouring over with Llane. In the guards’ arms, Lothar is dragged across the floor, blood spilling onto the floor. They drop him onto a table, and Khadgar is immediately pushing his way to Lothar’s side, hands instantly on his arm as he looks for the source of the wound.

The guards remove his armor, and Lothar’s head lulls to the side, unconscious. 

“What the hell happened?” Llane’s voice booms over the panicked crowd, and Khadgar tunes him out, feeling the heat of his magic working through his body. He touches Lothar’s chest, at the base of the wound, and closes his eyes.

“We were ambushed, m’lord. The orcs came at us from all directions, and I have no clue how those dumb creatures found our camp, but they killed almost all of us before we could even react.”

“Where are the other survivors?”

“It’s just us, m’lord.” The guardsmen look at their feet and Llane is crossing the room to touch their shoulders, whispering words of confidence and sympathy to them. The guards are ushered off to another room, their heads snapping over their shoulders consistently to look at their commander.

Lothar awakes with a sudden gasp, followed by a disgruntled cry of pain. “Khadgar—”

“Shut up.” He opens his eyes, a sudden tightness in his chest when he sees the expression on Lothar’s face.

“My men—”

“I said, shut up.” Khadgar can feel the strain now as the wound is almost fully healed. The skin works its way back together, any trace of a wound gone. Alter time has never been an easy one for him, but he needs it more than ever now. It’s beginning to burn, but Khadgar keeps focused, thinks of the nights they spent together—

The first night. How beautiful and exciting it had been. How Lothar hadn’t needed to drink to continue the nights. Khadgar wasn’t some one night mistake. He didn’t know what he would do if he had been.

“Khadgar—” And Khadgar doesn’t hear what he says, already falling away. It feels like fire, and he’s engulfed in it momentarily before darkness takes over. He sees Lothar sit up, reaching out to him with bloodied hands.

///

“He’s awake.” Lothar’s voice.

Khadgar’s eyes open slowly, and it takes a moment to realize he’s on an actual bed. The furniture looks like the type from the inn, and Khadgar begins to sit up, but his body feels heavier than lead. He decides against it and drops his head back into the pillow, exhaling heavily.

Suddenly, Llane comes into view with a large pitcher and a glass of water outstretched. Khadgar happily accepts the glass and sits up just enough to down it all without choking. Lothar’s hand is on Khadgar’s shoulder, thumb brushing back and forth in a calming manner. Khadgar feels a sudden blossom of warmth in his chest, a light feeling, that has him sitting up fully. Lothar’s hand moves to his back, to keep him up, and Khadgar hands him the glass.

“What happened? I was—”

“I was dying. And you saved me. I guess it took everything out of you. I thought you were stronger than that, Khadgar.” Underneath his scathing comment is a smile, and Khadgar knows he’s done well. That his readings and practices have paid off.

“Well… I didn’t think it would work. But I had to try something. We couldn’t just leave that to bandages and hope it healed…”

Lothar leans forward, aware of Llane in the room watching the two of them, and gently massages the back of Khadgar’s neck. “You saved my life, spellchucker. I am grateful.”

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear you be grateful for something I did.” Khadgar’s smile is sheepish, and Lothar laughs in response. Sometimes, Khadgar just wants to see Lothar smiling and laughing. 

As if he could forget the war.

“Medivh heard of what happened and sent some drinks for you. Not the fun kind, but he said they would help with your weakness. The last one I took a whiff of smelt like burnt wood. Quite peculiar things, you mages deal with.” Llane motions to a series of small intricate bottles on the bedside table. “I’ll leave you two be. We have some repositioning to do for our posts. Feel well soon, Khadgar.”

“I’ll try.”

Llane leaves the room and closes the door behind them, and Khadgar immediately looks to his lap, avoiding Lothar’s intense gaze.

“I think it’s my fault.”

“What?” Lothar pauses, his hand dropping from Khadgar’s neck.

“The ambush. I think… something’s wrong with me.” Lothar raises an eyebrow and Khadgar swallow thickly, feeling the weight return back to his body. He’s tired, and he wants to sleep. His eyes grow heavy, and Lothar can see it.

“Should you rest first?” Lothar sounds a bit skeptical, and a little worried, but Khadgar can’t help but let his eyes close again.

“Maybe…” And before he knows it, he’s asleep again. 

Adrift in the green sea, the water alive with a sense of anger. It drags at him, tries to pull him under. Khadgar’s not too far from the shore, and he’s trying to reach it, but every single time, the fel pulls him back. It floods his lungs, makes him burn with a hatred that he’s never felt before. He can’t breathe, it’s suffocating him. It’s going to kill him.

“Lothar!” He wakes with a violent jerk, and he’s quickly pinned down by a strong body. Khadgar’s fingers wind themselves into Lothar’s jacket, breath caught in his throat, and he’s shivering, skin slick with cold sweat.

“Hey, hey, I’m here.” Lothar touches his face, strokes his cheek, and Khadgar wants the feeling of the fel in his dreams to go away, but something swirls sickly in his stomach.

“I think— I think it’s my fault. I think there’s something wrong with me. I think the fel has me somehow — I don’t know how, don’t look at me like that — and I think it’s using me to spy on you.” Khadgar looks at Lothar, tries to process the look that Lothar’s giving him, but he’s met with a shake of the head.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! How did the… the orcs know about the camp? They couldn’t have. Lothar, listen to me—”

Almost as if on cue, there’s screams from downstairs. Lothar’s head swivels to look at the door and then back to Khadgar.

“You stay here.”

“No.” Khadgar begins to get up, but Lothar pushes him back down with one strong hand.

“You’re _weak_.”

Khadgar opens his mouth to say something, but Lothar’s already striding across the room, the warmth of his hand gone. The single scream turns into multiple shouts, and once Lothar slams the door shut, Khadgar’s on his feet, gathering the remainder of his robes. He’s tipsy, almost a drunk like feeling, but more than anything, he’s determined to be some sort of help. Quietly opening the door, he peaks through to see a soldier running up the stairs to be suddenly speared, body falling limp down the steps.

With a small gasp, Khadgar pulls the door shut.

“Okay, okay. We’re under attack. I can do something.”

Opening the door again, Khadgar spots an orc at the end of the hall. Its tusks that jut out of its mouth are larger than Khadgar’s arm, and he freezes on the spot, feeling extremely small compared to the mass of green muscle in front of him. It roars, the sound echoing in Khadgar’s ears, and it rushes forward towards him.

With a shout, a blue energy shoots from his hand and knocks the orc back into the wall. It hunches over with a few audible snaps and Khadgar’s running down the stairs, almost slipping down the last set.

The tavern is an utter frenzy.

Blades are swinging, blood is splattered, and they are completely outnumbered. Khadgar can spot Llane and Lothar defending each other, trying to protect as many others as they can. As an orc falls with athud to the ground, Lothar catches Khadgar’s eye and Khadgar bolts across the room, sliding between fights, trying his best to get over to Lothar without any sort of trouble.

Before he can make it, a club hits him in the ribs and sends him flying across the room. Khadgar gasps for air, struggling to get on his knees. 

An orc in front of him, grinning with the chance at such an easy kill, raises his axe and Khadgar can see Lothar in the distance, running towards him. He’s too late, Khadgar knows it, and he tries his hardest to mutter one last spell under his breath—

And the axe shatters against a blue bubble that surrounds him. Khadgar raises his head to see a robed figure beside him, and he instantly knows the familiar feathered cape.

“Medivh—”

“Stupid boy.” Medivh mutters under his breath, and he slams his fist on the ground, a sudden green cracks opening throughout the tavern. The orcs scream out in agony as it looks as though they’re sucked towards it, and their bodies disintegrates, withered and frail as they struggle to try and escape. 

There’s a tugging sensation in Khadgar, and he’s pulled to the ground — he can see a green glow coming from his hands. 

He lets out a hollow shriek. It feels as though his magic is being ripped from his body. He trembles, fingers curling into tight fists, teeth clenched tightly as though they could shatter from the tension in any given second. But within moments, it’s over, and there’s a handful of people left remaining in the tavern.

“Well. I didn’t quite expect that.”

Khadgar exhales heavily, dropping to the ground, and Lothar is immediately beside him.

“I… told you.”

“What the hell was that?” Lothar looks up to Medivh, who looks at the two of them curiously.

“Let’s call it… hm, a purge.” Medivh crouches down and touches Khadgar’s back, closing his eyes. Khadgar feels the warmth sucked from his body, and he feels as though he’s been submerged in ice water.

“Let’s get the boy back to the castle.”

“What’s going on with him? He looks sick. Medivh—”

“To the castle. Call your gryphon, Lothar. We have things to do.”


	6. undertow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little rest and relaxation, but not for long. That's just not Khadgar and Lothar's luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow. I'm so so so sorry to have kept y'all waiting so long for this! I'm amazed that people are still reading this, and are still sticking around for updates. I'm in full time university + working + writing my own original content, so this story definitely slipped my mind over and over again. But there would be times where I was ready to write it, but something else would take over.
> 
> Please forgive me for keeping you guys waiting for so long! Hopefully you enjoy this chapter, which is more action than affection, but I have some more planned in the next little while! xo

Khadgar’s in and out of conscious, a hazy reality blending in and out of reach. Sometimes, when he wakes, he can see Lothar sitting beside him, and sometimes he sees Medivh. A sense of fear rises in his chest at the sight of the Guardian, but he knows he’s in good hands. Then, suddenly, he’s gone again. Lost in an abyss, an inky black nothingness that surrounds him. It’s almost like the void, but not as cold — or so, he’s read that it’s cold. He wouldn’t actually know.

“Is he going to be okay?” Lothar’s voice sounds like he’s ten rooms away, muddled, but it’s definitely him. Khadgar can’t mistake that voice anywhere else.

“Fine, fine. Boy just had a little bit of the fel inside of him.”

“The fel? He’s mentioned it but I don’t quite know—”

“No. Of course you wouldn’t. It’s a magic, much more dangerous than what you’re used to. I’ve been studying it. Studying him.”

“Studying him?”

“I knew there was something wrong with him, but I wanted to see where it went. What he could do with it. My little inklings are often correct, Lothar. You know this.”

“He’s not… some arcane experiment that you can entertain yourself with!” Lothar’s voice cuts through Khadgar’s blurred memories of the cracks in the floor, the green emanating from below. The pain he felt.

“Is someone getting a little too attached?”

A sudden silence falls between them, and Khadgar opens his eyes to see the two of them standing in the door. Lothar wears a frustrated expression and Medivh looks more than amused.

“Lothar—”

He turns at Khadgar’s voice and he shoots Medivh a look before walking over, crouching down beside Khadgar’s bed.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Khadgar begins to sit up, an airiness to his limbs that feels different from before. “Medivh.” Medivh is watching him, eyes sparkling with a curiosity that makes Khadgar feel a little timid. “The fel. It was in me?”

“Just a small amount. Nothing too dangerous. It gave you a little bit of extra power, but nothing to conquer kingdoms with. Why you? I’m not entirely sure. I didn’t think the fel was contagious, like a disease. No…” Medivh walks across the room, his movement so smooth that Khadgar would think he was levitating just barely. “Something else must have happened to you.” 

“I don’t remember anything… Nothing special, anyways.”

“Hm. Well, think on it and do let me know. I’m curious.”

Medivh leaves and closes the door behind him, and the moment it clicks shut Khadgar finds his hands reaching out to touch Lothar. He needs him close, was worried that he might have lost him in the tavern. Khadgar hasn’t had a moment to slow down and think, to process everything that’s happened.

The bed dips as Lothar climbs over to him, letting Khadgar’s arms wrap around his body, pulling him close. 

“I can’t lose you.” It’s quiet, and Khadgar almost misses hearing it it but he pulls back slightly, looking at Lothar’s pained expression. “I…” And he’s never really seen Lothar at a loss for words, the man’s always swift with retorts, and he’s always composed around Khadgar. 

“You won’t. I’m still here, aren’t I? The Guardian won’t let anything terrible happen. It’s why he’s the Guardian.” His smile seems to put Lothar at ease.

“He’s been missing a long time, Khadgar.”

“Missing? You knew exactly where he was. You just never bothered to visit him.”

“And who told you that?” Lothar’s tone changes, and Khadgar realizes he’s walking on thin ice.

“Llane.”

“Bastard.” Khadgar snorts and Lothar rolls his eyes. “Forget it. We should get back to Stormwind. After everything that’s happened… we should get you somewhere safe.”

“I’m safe here! The Guardian’s here.”

“Something’s not quite right here either…”

Khadgar frowns at him, his hand cupping Lothar’s face, thumb rubbing small circles on his stubbled cheek. 

“We’re leaving. My gryphon is out on the flight deck.”

“But…” The expression on Lothar’s face tells him that he’s not fooling around. “Okay. I think I’ll be okay to ride. You have to tell me everything on your mind once we’re back though.”

“I promise.” When Lothar leaves the bed, Khadgar lingers for a moment, wishing that they could have a night like their first again. Uninterrupted, minds occupied. It’s ignorant thinking, and Khadgar knows he should be ashamed.

But he can’t help it.

They make their way down the long twisting hallways, visions of ghosts passing out the corner of Khadgar’s eyes. He remembers Moroes warning him of staring too long, of believing the whispers behind closed doors. Lothar seems to have no trouble, and Khadgar holds his breath as they make their way to the stone deck, the tower looming behind them. Over the edge, Khadgar can see the mountainous range go on for seemingly forever.

Over the horizon, he sees a flicker of lightning behind the clouds and thunder booms in the canyon. He looks at Lothar, who offers him a smile. 

That smile falls when they see Lothar’s gryphon.

She’s frozen on her hind legs, set in time, her long white feathers appearing a dull grey. Both Lothar and Khadgar stop in their tracks and stare. After what feels like an eternity, Khadgar steps forward and presses his palm to the gryphon’s side, flinching when his hand unmistakably touches stone. Her beak is wide open, almost as if she had been calling out for them. Suddenly, her defensive stance makes sense.

“Lothar, she’s been turned to stone.” He looks over his shoulder to see a wave of sudden anger flicker across Lothar’s face. Khadgar’s eyes flicker up to the top of the tower and before he has a chance to speak, his body is pushed by what feels like a large hand, and he slides over to the edge of the deck. 

“Khadgar!” Lothar begins to run towards him, but he’s pushed in a similar fashion in the opposite direction. From the door they entered, Medivh steps out with a smile.

“Medivh! What’s going on? We’re under attack!” Lothar gets to his feet quickly, hand immediately going to his sword, and Khadgar finds himself unable to move. 

“Oh, young trust, if only you had been more useful to me.”

Medivh’s cloak drags across the floor and Khadgar sees it — the unmistakable green in his eyes. Khadgar opens his mouth to speak, but with a flick of Medivh’s hand, he’s pushed down hard into the stone floor. He tastes blood in his mouth.

“My little spy… too smart for his own good.”

“This doesn’t make any sense. You…” Lothar staggers to his feet, his hand straying near his blade. Khadgar tries to twist his head, to see Lothar, but he’s stuck in place. He can only hear him, and see Medivh’s twisted smile.

“Betraying our king? Llane… a pity, what must happen to him. He won’t rule these lands for much longer. A part of me almost feels sorry for him.”

“This is nonsense! What sort of… demon is possessing you? This is not the Medivh I know!” And Khadgar hears it, the sound of Lothar’s sword being drawn from its sheath. The metallic sound of war that he knows is useless against Medivh. 

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

With a quick jerk of his head, Khadgar watches in vain as Lothar begins to run towards Medivh. 

“Fool.” Medivh flicks his hand, and Lothar is pushed back, his sword flying off the ledge. The look on Lothar’s face, the betrayal that looks as though it runs into his blood, Khadgar wants to fix it. Wants Medivh to snap out of it, to break away from the fel.

Pushing against the strength of Medivh’s magic, Khadgar manages to get to his knees. Medivh notices this, and begins to laugh. 

“Medivh… This isn’t like you. Llane is our friend. Don’t you remember?”

“No.”

Before Lothar can respond, Medivh reaches out and waves his hand. It’s as though a massive gust of wind drags Lothar off the ledge, pulling him into the air. He lingers for a moment, hand reaching out for Medivh in an act of desperation. 

Medivh turns out, and Lothar falls.

It happens so fast that Khadgar doesn’t register his own footsteps, the leap off the edge of the tower—

The air in his face, his outstretched hand, Lothar’s falling body—

The power inside of him. 

Khadgar’s fingers graze against Lothar’s before his hand grasps onto his wrist, and they’re falling fast, and Khadgar squeezes his eyes shut, incantation words lost in the whistle of the fall.

He knows the spell. It has to work, even if he’s never used it like this before. His free hand glows a bright blue, the rune for the spell written into the air in a flurry. 

They’re falling fast, and he hopes it works.

“Khadgar—” Lothar’s voice cuts through him, and a sudden blast of energy pushes the air out of his lungs.

They fall hard onto a stone floor. Hard enough that it has Khadgar rolling onto his back and gasping for air. It’s dark, except for a torch lit near a set of wooden stairs. Khadgar can smell the heavy scent of booze and he suddenly realizes where they are.

He teleported them to the inn. In Stormwind.

A sob begins to build in his chest, eyes burning as he lets out a small whine, his body spent. Beyond all aches, he pushes himself up, clutching at his ribs. As he adjusts to the room, he sees Lothar lying on his side. 

“Lothar—” It’s hardly a whisper, and Khadgar feels relief wash over him when he sees the man push himself up with one hand. “Oh God, you’re okay.”

“Of course… You think I’ve fallen more than once in my life?” Lothar pushes himself up, clearly more sturdy than Khadgar, and drags himself over the mage. “Are you okay?”

“I… I think so…” He lets out a small sob and covers his mouth, an alarming wash of emotion welling up inside of him. Medivh — possessed? Trying to kill them? How were they going to beat that? “We need to go.” Khadgar pushes himself up, but his knees buckle and Lothar reaches out, catching him. 

“You need rest, youngling.”

“I’m not a youngling. I’m a fighter, like you.”

“Come.” And in a sweeping lift, Lothar picks up Khadgar and begins to take him to the stairs. 

“I can walk on my own, put me down!” By telling how little of a fight Khadgar physically puts up, Lothar smirks and tightens his grip. As they reach the top, an eerie silence fills the tavern. Pushing the door open, they step into an empty bar, and look at each other with raised brows. 

“Have we missed something?”

Lothar sets Khadgar down at a table and moves to the window. Khadgar, taking a deep breath with a wince, watches the man’s back as he tries not to think about how he could have lost him. How he’s already lost Medivh. 

“What do you see?”

Lothar leans against the window, looking back and forth. 

“People gathering in the streets, carrying candles. Mourning, I would assume.”

“Llane—”

“Llane’s probably fine. Would Medivh have been trying to kill us if Llane was dead already?”

“You sound so calm about it.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

With a nod in agreement, Khadgar pushes himself up from the table and begins to make his way to the inn bedrooms.

“Where are you going?” Khadgar can hear Lothar turn around, making his way over. He desperately wants Lothar to reach out and touch him, but no such thing happens.

“I need to _rest_.”

“We need to see Llane, inform him of what’s happened.”

“I’m not going anywhere in this state. Spells like that are… exhausting. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Lothar makes a sound, something akin to frustration, and Khadgar waves him off. His knees fall out from underneath him at he makes his way over to a bed. A part of him expects Lothar to follow him in, to take him softly into his arms, but he hears the tavern door slam shut.

He feels like a house cat, sleeping this much. His limbs feel heavy once again as he tries to sit up. It’s no use. Khadgar’s useless, in comparison to his fearless warrior. It makes falling asleep alone a little bit harder to bear.


End file.
